C H A P T E R : i don't like the townsfolk

The cobblestone paths that lay out before us, like the ones seen in a town square on some eighteenth century-based movie, are empty without any feet to occupy its vast space. The place is completely abandoned, except for the scarce few that wander the streets with carts or children in hand, offering us wide-eyed stares.

Despite their looks, Isak walks with confidence throughout the empty streets, striding with his long legs to gain speed. I walk behind him, running a bit so as not to fall behind. Those who do occupy the empty streets eye the two of us with curiosity and a bit of hostility.

A man, not far from being sixty, sits on the edge of the fountain that stands in the middle of the village square. His stare is even more intense than the others on the street, and I could feel his gaze harass my body and space. It's uncomfortable.

As Isak and I pass him, our bodies a yard apart from each other, the man suddenly grabs my wrist, and I gasp in fright.

"What the hell?" I exclaim.

"Are you a foreigner?" The old man asks me, his grip on my wrist firm yet shaking.

"W-What?"

"I'm asking if yer a foreigner," he repeats.

Isak immediately intervenes and pushes the man's hand away, stepping in front of me. "Mind your manners, Sir," he states with a chilling tone. "It's wrong for a man to attack an unsuspecting woman."

"Oh my God!" He says abruptly, like some lightbulb activated in his head. His expression pales as if he saw a ghost, and his hand covers his gaping mouth.

I see my Grandpappy's butler frown deeper, his presence becoming more intimidating as each second passes. But even with Isak's threatening appearance, the old man doesn't falter and keeps his eyes on me.

He points his shaking index finger. "Yer her," he states, jaw quivering. "Yer no foreigner. Yer Papa's—"

Isak now fully covers me with his tall height and broad back. "Sir," he begins, gently grabbing his arm. "You are scaring my guest. l ask that you please do not behave in such a way."

"Isak," the old man says. He grabs the man's arm.

He knows him?

"It's her, right?" I hear the old man say. "The girl in my Papa's picture. She's her."

"No, Sir, she is not—" Isak answers. He continues to lecture the old man as I glance at the other people witnessing our scene on the streets. I find a man with a cabbage cart stopping his travel just to stare. I find a middle aged woman and her child look on at us, her arms wrapping around her child in a protective way.

Although I should've noticed it earlier, I now realize that the villagers' clothing is unlike what an ordinary person in this day and age would wear. Instead of jeans and a t-shirt, this woman wears a solid-colored dress with a dirty apron over it, her hair tied in a bun and covered with a white cap. The boy she holds on to also dresses differently, his shirt a dull green and ragged on the edges and paired with old-fashioned shorts.

Although it's odd, I don't think much of it. I remember visiting the Amish back when I was in middle school for a school trip, so I assume these people dress like that because of their religion as well.

However, as my senses start to sharpen and notice my surroundings more, I find that the people on the street are not the only eyes that examine us. More eyes, from up top of the quaint, Snow-White-type buildings, look down on Isak and I, mostly women but also young and old men, too.

I get an uncomfortable chill that courses through my spine.

"No, you may not bring her over, Sir," I hear Isak say, his formal tone raising a little. He sighs with frustration. "Sir, please do not keep us occupied for any longer. I must bring my lady to her residence."

"Please!" The old man pleads. "Just for a moment, Isak. My father is of old age and is growing weaker by the day. He is sure to die sooner or later. If he sees her just this once, he will be at peace."

"Maybe another day, Sir," Isak responds, concluding the conversation. He turns to me, his black shades glinting against the sunlight. "Mie, follow close behind me. I apologize for the delay."

For now, I don't question. I just trot behind him, determined to keep close.

"Isak, please!" I hear the old man call, making my head turn to look back at his sad state. The old man drops to his knees and tears form large raindrops on the floor. Instantly, a younger boy, around the age of ten, comes running to his side, setting his hand on his shoulder as a means for comfort. As we walk farther away, their conversation becomes inaudible. But after a few words exchanged, the younger boy looks up and freezes.

"Keep your eyes ahead, Mie," Isak tells me, and I turn my head to face forward. "I wouldn't want you to trip and fall."

"Who was that man?" I finally ask, looking over my shoulder again. This time I find another old man, this one way older than the first, rolling towards the younger boy in a wheelchair. Like the younger child, he looks up to face the direction Isak and I walk in, and from the small scene that I could see, he points his finger at me. I turn back to face Isak. "Who are they?"

"They are the townsfolk of Epsersein," Isak answers curtly.

"Well, yes, obviously," I respond, jogging to walk beside him. "But I mean, do you know them? That old man from earlier called out your name."

"Yes, we are acquaintances," Isak says. "And nothing more."

"That's it?"

"Yes, Mie," Isak sighs.

I frown, looking up at him. "But why does he seem like he knows me?" I ask him.

He sighs again. This time, more exaggerated. "He does not know you," he says. "He simply thought he knew you. I assume he mistook you for someone else."

"He said I looked like a girl in a picture," I press on.

Isak abruptly stops, irritation cracking his stoic appearance. His head lowers itself a bit, just enough to tip his shades and reveal his jade-colored eyes.

"Again, he mistook you for someone else, Mie." He glowers, lifting up his sunglasses back to its position. "I do not mean to offend you, but we should hold off on the questions until we reach Milord's mansion." He looks back down at me, his cool and calm expression returning. "Alright?"

I eye him, pursing my lips at the ominous, mysterious man before me.

"Alright," I mutter.

I wait before continuing to walk. Just to extend the distance between us.